Olympic games
by quiller
Summary: There are more games going on at the Olympics than take place in the arena - as Gordon finds out. Complete story Please note higher than usual rating for adult content
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: this story takes place in September 2064 - fifteen months after the end of 'Ordeal', and less than a year before International Rescue becomes operational. I know it is customary to put Gordon's Olympic victory before his accident, but Chris Bentley's 'Complete book of Thunderbirds' which I use as my authority, does not have a date for either event, so I feel free to put them this way round.

Standard Disclaimer: I acknowledge Carlton plc as the copyright holders of the 'Thunderbirds' characters, and I thank Gerry Anderson and his team for creating them.

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Chapter 1 

Jake Carter leaned across the table to his partner. "OK, Drew, just how are we going to get a story by sitting in a restaurant at 6.30 in the evening?"

Drew Meredith looked at the young photographer and smiled. "The art of getting a good story is to find the angle that no-one else does. For instance, imagine you are an athlete whose family or friends have come along to the Olympics to support you. You've just won a medal. What do you want to do?"

"Go out for a meal?" responded Jake as comprehension dawned.

"Exactly. Athletes don't want fancy food and this restaurant does the best steaks in town. They also want meals that fit in with their training routine – and supper is served in the Olympic Village at 7pm. So keep your voice down and your eyes peeled and we'll see if we get lucky."

The restaurant was nearly empty at this hour, only a few groups of people seated at the tables. Drew kept his eyes on the door, and suddenly said "This looks promising."

Jake glanced round as a group of five young men were shown to a table in the corner. As they took their seats he said "Do you recognise any of them?"

"No, but they certainly look the type." That was the trouble with the Olympics these days, there were so many events that it took a whole team of reporters to cover them. "Hold on, I'm going to use the mike. Have you got your earpiece in?" Jake nodded as Drew pointed the mini directional microphone towards the young men's table, using the tablecloth as a cover for his activities. The voices came over loud and clear.

The tallest of the group, a young man with dark hair, was speaking across the table to the one with auburn hair. "Gordon, are you drinking tonight?"

"I don't see why not. I've only got a training session tomorrow, and that's not 'til midday. I should have recovered by then. I think I've earned a night off."

The dark haired one turned to the waiter standing with the wine list. "We'll have two bottles of champagne then, please."

Another one, with blond hair, addressed Gordon. "Did you speak to Father?"

"Yes, he said he'd been watching the telecast. He told me you'd already phoned."

A second blond said "Yes, you should have seen us all trying to cram into one phone box after the race. Did you bring your medal?"

_("Jackpot!" whispered Drew as the one addressed as Gordon pulled a gold medal out of his jacket pocket._

_"Are you going to speak to them?" asked Jake._

_"No, wait. We don't even know who he is yet, though it sounds like they're all family. I can see a family resemblance in the two dark-haired ones for sure. Keep listening")_

The medal was being past around. "It's heavier than I thought it would be."

"I wonder if it's real gold."

"I doubt it. We could get Brains to test it."

"Yeah, he could dip it in acid or something"

Gordon grabbed the medal back. "You dare!"

"OK, bro' take it easy – I was only pulling your leg."

Gordon put the medal back in his pocket. "We're not even supposed to take these out of the Olympic Village – they gave us a lecture about that on the first day. At the last games a guy called Brad Peterson was carrying his gold around and had his pocket picked and lost it."

By now the champagne had arrived. Everyone on the table raised their glasses. The dark-haired one spoke, "To you Gordon. We all know how hard you had to work for this, and we're proud of you."

The blond one added, "To 'Coppertop,' the fastest thing in the water."

("You know, I keep thinking I've seen that blond one before, but I can't place him. It'll come to me in a minute.")

Gordon raised his own glass in response. "To you guys, I couldn't have done it without you, especially the way you all stood by me last year. And to you Alan, the fastest thing on land."

One of the others chipped in, "To the racing Tracys!"

(Drew had been scribbling notes. Gordon – water – Alan – land – Tracy - racing. He checked his electronic press handbook. Yes, here he was, Gordon Tracy, swimmer for the U.S. team, winning gold in this afternoon's 400m butterfly. One of his colleagues must have covered that event – no scoop there, then. He couldn't see any other Tracys listed on the team. Suddenly the penny dropped. "Of course! Alan Tracy!" He looked across at Jake. " He's not an athlete, he's a racing driver. You remember he won the World Championships last month. It caused quite a stir because he's the youngest person ever to do so. So he and Gordon Tracy are brothers? Now that's an angle I bet no-one else has come up with. Right, now we make our move!")

As they made their way across the room the toasts continued. "To Dad, Grandma, and all the other people we wish were here with us tonight." There was a moment's silence, then one said quietly "To Dad's dream."

It was at that moment that Drew approached the table and addressed Gordon. "Mr Tracy? I'm Drew Meredith of the Australian Times. I wondered if I might have a quick word with you."

Gordon was about to reply when the dark haired man across the table cut in. "I'm Scott Tracy, Mr Meredith, Gordon's older brother. Can we do a deal here?"

"What sort of deal?" said Drew.

"Gordon's worked hard for his success, and he'd like to be able to enjoy it tonight in peace and privacy. If you go away now, and I mean right away, out of the restaurant, we'll all meet you tomorrow for an interview. How does that sound?"

This was better than Drew had hoped for. It would also give him time to do some background research. "Sounds good to me. What time do you suggest?"

"How about 10 o'clock in the lounge of the Grand Hotel. Does that suit you Gordon?" He looked across at his brother, who nodded. "And you don't use anything you've heard tonight without clearing it with us first – deal?"

"You drive a hard bargain, Mr Tracy, but, yes, it's a deal. Can I bring my photographer along?"

"Sure, no problem. See you tomorrow then." Scott watched as the men left the restaurant, then turned back to the table. "That was a nuisance, but at least we've got him off our backs now. I don't think he heard anything he shouldn't."

"You probably gave him what he was hoping for anyway," said John. "A reporter would far rather have an in-depth interview than a quick quote."

"Right, then," said Gordon, "if there's no more interruptions, let's get on with the party!"

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A couple of hours - and several more bottles of champagne – later, the Tracy boys were standing outside the restaurant. Gordon was put into a taxi, then the other boys made their way back to their hotel.

Back at the Olympic village, Gordon went up to his room, then sat on the bed to remove his shoes. He wasn't totally drunk, but he certainly wasn't sober. Just then he heard a light tapping on his door. He got up to open it and was surprised to see the slim figure of Cassie Myles, from the athletics squad, standing there, dressed in a silk wrap. He had only met her a few days ago on the bus from the airport, but she always seemed to make a point of sitting with him at meals whenever she got the opportunity. "Cassie!" he hissed, "What are you doing here? This is the boys' floor – you're not supposed to be here!"

"In that case you'd better let me in, before someone sees us," she said, squeezing past him. Then to his surprise she put her arms around his neck and gave him a passionate kiss. "And as to why I'm here – well I've come to help you celebrate your gold medal."

Gordon wasn't quite sure what to say. He'd had his share of girlfriends, sure, but he'd never had one throw herself at him in quite this way. And it was pretty obvious that she was wearing nothing but perfume underneath that skimpy wrap. He tried to disentangle himself. "Look, Cassie, this is a lovely offer, but I've had a long day and quite a lot to drink. I'm not sure I can …" he could feel himself blushing.

"Don't you like girls?" she asked, kissing him again.

"Yes, of course I do, but I've never …" by now he was blushing even more.

"You mean I'll be your first? Don't worry, I'll show you what to do," and with that she kissed him again, pressing her body against his. By now the testosterone was clearing its way through the alcoholic fog in Gordon's brain, and he felt himself start to respond.

He had a sudden thought. "Hang on, I haven't got any – you know - precautions"

"It's all right, I've got an implant." She pulled the wrap off her shoulder to reveal a small bump on her upper arm. The fact that it also revealed most her left breast did not go unnoticed.

Cassie started to peel off his shirt, then hesitated. "Hang on, where's your medal?"

"My medal?" replied Gordon, confused. "It's in my jacket."

Cassie reached over and retrieved the medal, hanging it around his neck. "You've got to wear your medal – it wouldn't be the same without it." She pushed him down on the bed and deftly removed the rest of his clothes. "Now, we celebrate."

After a short interval the two figures lay entwined on the bed, bathed in sweat. Cassie pushed back the damp hair from Gordon's forehead. "Now was that more fun than winning gold?"

Gordon chuckled and kissed her neck. "I'm not sure. I couldn't even say which was more effort!"

"But at least you don't have to wait four years to try this again!"

During their activity the gold medal had somehow been transferred from around Gordon's neck to Cassie. He looked at where it was lying. "That looks better on you than it does on me."

"Would you like me to look after it for you?"

Gordon suddenly remembered the encounter with Drew Meredith. "No, I'm going to need it tomorrow – I've got to do an interview with some reporter." He took the medal from around her neck and turned to place it on the bedside table, not noticing her disappointed expression as he did so.

"Can I wear it again tomorrow?"

He looked at her in surprise. He had not even thought there would be a 'tomorrow. "Sure you can. Hey, aren't you running tomorrow afternoon? You might have your own medal by then. What time is your race?"

"2 o'clock."

Gordon thought for a minute. "I've got a practice at noon, then the debriefing. It's for the relay, so the coach is probably going to want to go over tactics with us, but if I can get to your race then I will, I promise."

Cassie got up and picked up her wrap. "I suppose I'd better get back and get some sleep ready for tomorrow." She leaned forward and kissed him, then left the room.

Gordon stretched luxuriously and smiled to himself. What a day! What was that phrase? 'Some you win, some you lose.' Yep, that certainly summed up today's events.

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	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

The following day Gordon arrived at the hotel just before ten, to be greeted by his brothers in the lounge. "Hi, there, champ!" said Alan. "Feel any different today?"

"No," said Gordon, and John was the only one to notice him blush slightly. "Should I?"

"Well, this is the first morning you've woken up as an Olympic champion."

"I suppose I'll get used to it," replied Gordon, dryly.

Just then Drew Meredith arrived and they all seated themselves around a table. Meredith produced a small recording device. "If it's all right with you I would like to record the interview."

The boys looked at each other. The one who had identified himself as Scott responded "Provided that if we say something is 'off the record', you agree."

"OK," said Meredith. "Can we start with introductions? I'd like to know who you all are, and what you do."

Scott spoke first. "I'm Scott, I'm the eldest at 25. I'm in the Air Force."

The blond man to Meredith's right spoke next. "I'm John, I'm nearly 24 and I'm with NASA."

"Following in your father's footsteps?" said Meredith.

John grinned at him. "I see you've been doing your homework."

The dark-haired man sitting between Scott and Gordon spoke next. "I'm Virgil, I've just turned 23 and I've recently completed an engineering degree at Denver."

Meredith cut in. "None of you are saying where you live."

Scott responded "Well, when we're not studying or on duty we go home. Our father has an island in the south Pacific." Meredith had read about Jefferson Tracy's island retreat in his research. The millionaire had bought it a few years ago and seemed to be becoming something of a recluse, but the reporter had not realised that the millionaire's sons all considered that to be home as well. Most young men could not wait to get away to start their own home, especially if money was not an issue, as it clearly was not in this case. Meredith looked at Gordon. "I suppose you're next?"

Gordon grinned. "That's right. I'm 21, I'm serving with the WASPs – oh, and I swim a bit."

Alan, sitting next to him, dug him in the ribs, then looked across at the reporter. "I'm Alan, I'm 20, and at the moment I'm studying electronic engineering at Colorado."

"Technology seems to be a common theme here in one aspect or another" observed Meredith.

"That's right," answered Scott. "The idea is that we all train in some technical field in order to be able to join the family business."

Meredith smiled at the way he managed to make a multi-million dollar corporation like Tracy Transport sound like the local family grocery store. "None of you are tempted by the managerial side of the business, then?"

"No," said Virgil, "we've always been more into practical things. Even as kids we were always taking our toys to bits to see how they worked."

"Excuse me," cut in John, "whose toys?"

The three younger boys responded together. "You weren't using them." "You got them back." "We got them working again – mostly."

Meredith smiled at what was obviously an old argument. "Hey, guys," cut in Scott. "Mr Meredith is never going to make sense of this if you all talk at the same time."

The reporter made a note on his pad. The continuous banter between the boys was an obvious indication of their closeness. It continued throughout the interview, when he was questioning Gordon about his swimming, and his plans for the future, and talking to Alan about his racing career. Meredith had done so many interviews over the years that he usually found he could ask the right questions almost on autopilot, leaving the recorder to pick up the answers, while his brain got on with analysing the interviewee. It was always interesting to note what questions a person _didn't_ want to answer. In this case the Tracy boys put an immediate veto on any mention of their mother. His research had shown that she had died some years ago, so they must all have been quite young at the time, but he was surprised that the subject was still taboo. Another subject Gordon seemed reluctant to discuss was the accident he had had the previous year. That might be worth a little digging – he might be able to get another story out of that for the more sensational tabloids – under one of his pen-names, naturally.

Just as the interview was drawing to a close Jake arrived with his camera. (Meredith had told him to arrive an hour after the designated time to give him time for the interview). He took some group shots, and a couple of single ones of Gordon wearing his medal. Again John noticed Gordon redden slightly as he put the medal on. _('What has that kid been up to now?' _he wondered to himself. There was some good-natured ragging from his brothers when Gordon asked Jake if he could have a couple of prints of the solo picture, but Jake was only too happy to oblige, and promised to send them to the Olympic Village.

As he watched the boys leave to accompany Gordon to his practice session, Meredith found he had been impressed by these young men. It was difficult in his line of work not to become jaded, meeting so many so-called 'celebrities' all desperate for their moment of fame. But these boys were different. They lacked the cynicism and careless attitude common in so many youngsters of today (listen to him, he sounded like his own grandfather!). Instead they seemed to have a purpose – it was as if they knew what they were going to do with their lives and looked forward to the prospect. The reporter found this quite refreshing.

(Author's note: for a complete transcript of the interview see 'Echo from the past')

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Despite Gordon's best efforts, it was nearly 2.30 by the time he arrived at the athletics stadium, and made his way to the athletes' enclosure. "Have I missed Cassie Myles race?" he asked a team-mate.

"Yes, that was ten minutes ago. She got bronze." Gordon didn't notice the odd look the other gave him. He stayed for the rest of the event, hoping Cassie would come into the enclosure, but there was no sign of her. There was great rejoicing when another of the girls, Sally Tucker, scooped a silver in the javelin event.

He looked for Cassie that evening at supper, but when he didn't see her he supposed she was off celebrating her win. At the end of the evening he went up to his room, and was not surprised when some time later there was a tap on the door and Cassie slipped in.

"I wasn't sure if you'd come tonight," he told her. "I thought you must be out celebrating with your team-mates."

"Celebrating? What the hell have I got to celebrate? All I got was a bloody bronze! That po-faced madam Sally Tucker ends up with a silver."

Gordon was surprised by this reaction, even more so when Cassie threw herself on the bed and started to sob. He put his arm round her shoulders and tried to think of some words of comfort. "Hey, now, don't cry like that. Look, I didn't get there in time to see your race, but I'm sure you did your best. You gave it your best shot – it's just that somebody else was a little bit better on the day. If you tried as hard as you could then nobody could expect more of you."

She looked at him through her tears. "You're a sweet man, Gordon, even if you do have some odd views. I'm here to win – as far as I'm concerned you're either first – or you're nowhere." She sniffed, and turned to him "Will you come to my next race? – it's the day after tomorrow."

"Yes, I'll be there, I promise. My last race is tomorrow, so I'll definitely be able to make it this time. Maybe I'll bring you better luck."

She kissed him, seductively, "And can I wear your medal again tonight?"

Sometime later, as they lay wrapped in each others arms, Cassie rubbed her finger across his arm, which was covered with small, needle-type scars. "I noticed these last night – did you used to do drugs or something?"

He pulled his arm away. "No, I was in an accident last year – that's the marks from where they pinned me back together."

"But you're covered in them!" she exclaimed, horrified.

"Yes, look, I don't like talking about it." He touched the medal that was once again round Cassie's neck. "Having this to work for was one of the things that kept me going – that and my family." 'And Dad's project' he thought to himself. He removed the medal from Cassie's neck, giving her a kiss as he did so. "And now, if I'm going to try for another of these tomorrow, I think you'd better go and let me get some sleep!"

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	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 

The following day the Tracy brothers were in their seats at the Thorpe Stadium well before the time of Gordon's race. The men's relay was the last item on the programme, and they watched as the teams assembled. "There's Gordon!" exclaimed Alan, as his brother's copper-coloured hair stood out amongst the group of competitors, "looks like he'll be going last."

"Which is the German team?" said Scott. "Gordon said they were the favourites for this event."

"There they are, in lane four. OK, here they all go!"

The race started, and immediately the German swimmer surged ahead. The crowd roared, everyone shouting for their own team. The boys watched as lap by lap the Germans forged ahead, until it was clear that the competition was going to be for second place.

As Gordon entered the water in a clean dive the American team was lying fourth. By the time he was halfway down the first length he had overtaken the French swimmer who had been in third place, but there was still a good distance between him and the Russian, lying second.

"Come on, Coppertop!" "Go, Gordon, go!" his brothers yelled.

The gap between Gordon and the Russian narrowed, but so did the gap between them both and the finish line. The noise in the arena increased to a deafening pitch as the two hands seemed to touch the barrier simultaneously.

"Did he do it? Did he?" the boys held their breath until the results appeared on the electronic scoreboard. "Yes!". The times showed Gordon had touched the barrier 2/100ths of a second before the Russian.

Down at the poolside, Gordon was being hoisted onto his team-mates shoulders. He looked up to where he knew his brothers were sitting and waved triumphantly.

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That evening Gordon arranged for his brothers to come to the Olympic Village. He had wanted to see them, but his team-mates were also in a celebratory mood, and this seemed the best way to satisfy all parties. He was waiting for them at the security desk when they arrived, accompanied by a young girl with dark curly hair and the slim build of a runner. He introduced her. "This is Cassie. I can only sign in two visitors, so she's come to sign the other two in for me."

Drew Meredith's interview had been in that morning's paper, so Cassie looked at the boys with interest. She smiled at John. "Are you the one who's the racing driver?"

John shook his head and pointed to Alan, "No, the paper got the caption the wrong way round. He's the racing driver – I'm the astronaut."

In the dining hall the boys helped themselves from the buffet and joined a table with Cassie and the rest of the swim team, who were still in a jubilant mood, with Gordon the hero of the day. The newspaper article had been passed around and was causing a bit of good-natured teasing. (Another article, with photos of both the hydrofoil crash and Gordon holding his medal, captioned 'From this to this - How Olympic swimmer came back from the dead to win gold' was also doing the rounds. Gordon did his best to ignore it: they had got most of the details wrong anyway.) One of his team-mates asked when Gordon had learned to swim.

Scott smiled as he ruffled his younger brother's hair. "This kid's been swimming since he learned to walk. 'Swim' was practically his first word."

"Heck," interjected John, "at one time it seemed like his only word. He was always pestering us to take him swimming." He turned to Gordon, "Do you remember that time you got me out of bed at five o'clock in the morning to take you down to the pool – and Dad tore strips off me when he found us?"

"Hey, guys," protested Gordon, "leave me a little dignity, will you?"

That caused snorts of derision all round. "Dignity? After the pranks you've pulled on us over the years?" replied Virgil.

"It's no good, Gordon," said the girl sitting opposite him, "You may be a hero to us, but to your brothers you'll always be just that – their kid brother."

Gordon rolled his eyes, "Don't I know it!" He looked around. " Well, it looks like we've all finished eating. Are we going to party?"

"You forget, Gordon," said another girl, "the juke-box is broken – someone spilt Coke over it the other night."

"Yes," said Gordon, "but there's a piano over there, and a microphone – and we've got a secret weapon." He looked at Virgil. "Feel up to it, Virg?" Virgil grinned and nodded.

"Great!" said John, "Can any of you girls dance?"

Gordon looked scathingly at his older brother. "John, these are athletes. Of course they can dance!"

The craze for jive dancing had undergone yet another revival in the past few years, and the Tracy boys had taken to it like the proverbial ducks to water. "Who's your best dancer?" drawled one of the girls. Four fingers pointed to John.

Virgil went over to the piano, while John rigged up the microphone. The others started to push back the tables, and were soon helped by willing volunteers who realised that something was going on. Once Virgil started pounding out old rock and roll classics the party was soon in full swing.

Cassie had stuck like glue to Gordon's side for most of the evening, but after several dances, Scott went up and tapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, kid. It's time for me to show this young lady how a real man can dance."

Gordon looked at him. "Are you pulling rank on me, bro'?"

"Looks that way, Lieutenant. Don't worry, I'll bring her back!"

As they moved onto the dance floor Cassie said "Do you outrank him?"

"Well, I'm a captain and he's a lieutenant, though air force and WASP ranks aren't really compatible – but I'm his eldest brother, so I certainly outrank him at home."

When that dance was over Scott brought Cassie back to Gordon. "Here she is, as promised." He shot Gordon an incomprehensible look. "Now, I think I'll go and see if Virgil needs a hand."

"Are you two going to set the piano on fire again?"

A grin spread across Scott's face. "Why not? We haven't done that for a while."

Gordon whistled to catch John and Alan's attention, and pointed to where Virgil and Scott were pushing away the piano stool and were now standing side by side. "Right," said John with glee. "Who are your long-distance runners?"

"What's going on?" asked Cassie, puzzled.

"This is their party piece. Last time they did it was at Virgil's graduation party – they went on for nearly seven minutes." Gordon looked at her. "You're racing tomorrow, so you'd better not dance, but you might find it fun to watch." They moved over to stand near the piano, just as Scott and Virgil launched into the opening bars of '_Great balls of fire'_. They played the first verse as a duet, but then started to take turns. Cassie watched, fascinated as they took over from each other, seemingly at random, but without missing a beat. By now they were producing variations on the original, and Gordon was providing a running commentary, "Oh, change of tempo there – very sneaky." " Watch out Scott, he's changing key!"

"Whose side are you on?" muttered Virgil.

Eventually Alan arrived by the piano, panting and pushing the damp hair off his forehead. "How long have they been going?" he asked.

Gordon glanced at his watch. "Just over five minutes. Anyone still dancing out there?"

"Just John and a couple of others."

Gordon touched both his elder brothers on the shoulder. "OK, guys, time to wrap it up."

Scott, in the middle of a complicated arpeggio at the treble end of the scale, nodded to show that he had heard, then started to count "5-6-7-8". On the next beat Virgil joined him to repeat the first verse, and they finished to applause from all the dancers.

Gordon's coach, who had been watching the whole performance in growing awe, slapped them both on the back. "Well, boys, piano playing isn't an Olympic event, but if it was, I'm sure that would win the gold!"

The crowd dispersed. Scott pulled up the piano stool and sat down. "I'll take over now, Virg. You go have a few dances."

As Scott sat down, Gordon leaned over and whispered, "Could you slip in a couple of slow numbers?"

Scott looked at his younger brother. "Whatever you say, champ." He wasn't in Virgil's class when it came to the piano – few people were – but he could pound out the odd tune, even if his style was more jazz and swing than rock & roll. He thought for a minute then started to play a piece he had heard in an old Fred Astaire film that his grandmother liked.

As the notes of _The way you look tonight_ echoed around the room, Gordon took Cassie in his arms and started to move slowly around the floor.

John watched Gordon dancing with Cassie. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something about her made him uneasy. He went and sat down on the piano seat next to Scott. "Have you seen the kid?" he asked, indicating Gordon with a jerk of his head.

Scott nodded, then, keeping his voice low so as not to be picked up by the microphone, asked "What do you think?"

"I'm not sure. I get a bad feeling about her."

"Me too." Scott had been a bit taken aback at the way Cassie seemed to be making a play for him, once she had found out he was the eldest. You didn't go round poaching your brothers' girlfriends, and you didn't expect them to go for you either. "Do you think we should have a word with him?"

"I think we're a bit late for that."

"Oh?" Scott raised an eyebrow expressively. "It's not just in the water that he moves fast, then."

"Come off it, Scott, for the past five years he's thought of little else beside this medal – what with that and spending most of last year recovering from his crash, he's hardly had time for girls. It's not surprising he's – " John hesitated.

"Making up for lost time?" Scott finished. "So what do you think we should do?"

"Nothing much we can do, that I can see, apart from be there to pick up the pieces if it does go wrong." John stood and turned away as the song finished and Scott started on something with a faster pace.

However, he and Scott were not the only ones to have been observing Gordon. Another figure watched as Gordon excused himself from his partner and headed for the corridor that led to the rest rooms.

A few minutes later the stranger caught up with Gordon in the corridor. "Hey, Tracy, great party you've got going for us."

"Thanks," said Gordon, "glad you're enjoying it" and made to go past, but the other seemed to want to talk.

The young man stuck out his hand. "Carl Peterson, athletics squad. Look, I know this is none of my business, but you seem to be getting pretty friendly with Cassie Myles."

"Yes," said Gordon defensively, wondering if this was some jealous ex-boyfriend, "So?"

"Has she asked you for your medal yet? If she does, don't feel you have to give it to her. She's already got my brother Brad's."

It took a moment for this to sink in, then Gordon reacted angrily. "Are you accusing _Cassie_ of stealing Brad Peterson's gold medal?"

"No, she didn't steal it – he gave it to her for 'services rendered'. Then he panicked and made up a story about having his pocket picked. They gave him a copy, but I've seen the way he looks at it – it doesn't mean the same. When I won my place on the team he told me what really happened." He paused, looking at Gordon. "She's a collector, Tracy. She's had my brother's medal, and now she's after yours. All the athletics team know about her. I'd have warned you earlier, but I hadn't realised until tonight quite how far she'd widened her search. Well, now you know."

Gordon stood and watched him go, then slumped back against the wall. The conversation echoed in his head, along with snatches of an earlier one.

_"That looks better on you than it does on me."_

_"Would you like me to look after it for you?"_

He felt sick in his stomach. Was that all he had meant to her? He felt used, dirty.. The idea of returning to the hall, of dancing with Cassie again, made his skin crawl. He wanted to creep away like an injured animal, find somewhere to hide and lick his wounds.

He straightened his shoulders. No, he wasn't going to slink away. He'd survived worse than this. Last year he'd been to hell and back – he'd come through that, he could get through this. But there was something he should do first. He headed for the elevator to his room, returning to the hall a few minutes later.

Gordon went up to Scott, who was just relinquishing his place on the piano to Virgil, and handed him a small bundle wrapped in a handkerchief. "Scott, will you look after this for me please?" Scott gave his younger brother a look of surprise, but took the bundle and stuffed it in his pocket.

Gordon spent the last half hour of the dance, before Coach called curfew, sitting next to Virgil on the piano stool, accompanying him on the harmonica. He had been playing for just over a year now, and there were quite of few tunes – mainly old Beatles numbers – that he could play along with. At least it gave him the excuse not to dance with Cassie, or even talk to her. He wanted to have that conversation in private.

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Later on he stood in his room, his arms folded across his chest. As he expected, he heard a tap on the door. "It's open," he called.

Cassie slipped in and came towards him, putting her hands round his neck. "I've brought my medal," she said, looking up at him with a smile. "Now we've got a full set between us."

Gordon took hold of her hands, unhooked them from his neck and let them drop. "No, Cassie," he said simply.

"What do you mean, 'no'?"

"It's over. I'm not playing any more. Medals aren't toys. Besides I haven't got mine any more – I gave them to Scott to look after, until I can take them home."

"Your father could buy you a hundred gold medals!"

"I know he could, but he doesn't have to. I've got one of my own, and I'm going to keep it, so you can forget trying to get your hands on it"

"Has Carl been talking to you? That fool brother of his! I would have given him his medal back, but he had already made up that story about it being stolen, so I couldn't say anything."

"I'd like to believe you, Cassie, but I'm not sure I can. You've got your race tomorrow – maybe you'll come by one then honestly."

She moved so fast that he didn't even see the slap coming. He rubbed his cheek. "OK, I deserved that, but that's all your getting from me. I'll be at the track tomorrow because I promised I would, and I keep my promises, but apart from that, it's over."

He watched as she turned without a word and stormed out of the room.

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If his brothers noticed the bruise on his cheek the next morning when they met up, they made no comment on it. "Where are we going?" Gordon asked, as they walked down towards the harbour.

Alan grinned. "This is Virgil's idea of a treat. We're going up there." He pointed to the Sydney Harbour Bridge. "He found out that you can do a tour that takes you across the top of the bridge."

Gordon grinned to himself. Yes, climbing all over some big piece of engineering genius sounded like Virgil's idea of a good day out.

As they walked along, their progress was marked by other passers-by who would look at Gordon, then nudge each other and whisper. Twice they were stopped by someone saying "Aren't you 'Coppertop' Tracy?" and asking Gordon for his autograph. The fact that these were mainly teenage girls was not lost on the other boys. When this happened for the third time, Scott muttered, "I'm getting fed up with this" and disappeared into a nearby shop. He emerged a few minutes later with three floppy hats of assorted colours, which he proceeded to ram on the heads of his three youngest brothers.

"How come you two haven't got silly hats, too?" objected Virgil.

"Because we're the oldest."

"And because we don't look like brothers," added John, who had realised Scott's intentions.

"Hey," protested Gordon, "I must look like a dolt in this."

"True" said Scott, "but at least you're an unrecognisable dolt. Without the hair, maybe 'Coppertop' Tracy won't be so noticeable."

"You know, I think we're going to have to drop this 'Coppertop' tag," John said thoughtfully, "it's too memorable. Suppose one of us uses it once we start the rescue business, and someone remembers 'Coppertop Tracy' in the '64 Games?"

"OK, no more 'Coppertop'." The boys all looked at each other and nodded.

The group set off again. Virgil and Alan were in the lead. Scott and John dropped back so they were either side of Gordon. "Anything going on that you want to talk to us about?" said John, quietly.

"No," said Gordon, fingering his cheek, "there's nothing going on."

"Well, if you do want to talk, you know we're here."

"Yes," said Scott, " and you don't need to feel bad about it. You're not the first Tracy boy to have his legs kicked out from under him by some little gold-digger. And no" he continued, looking at Gordon's expression, "I'm not going to tell you who else it's happened to – you'll just have to work that out for yourself!"

The two older boys walked off, leaving Gordon staring after them in amazement. He shook his head, then yelling, "Wait for me, guys," ran to catch up with his brothers.

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End file.
